


Guilt

by ColdNorth



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdNorth/pseuds/ColdNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena, not quite sure what has happened to her emotions, turns to the Grand Master of Control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

A/N: Hi there! So here’s a little ficlet that popped into my head one day.. Enjoy loves!  
Things to know: Not entirely canon, but not AU either. Set post ssn 4, and just about everyone has left town, and all of the Originals are alive and kicking. I own nothing except this fic, and I wanted to say thanks to my beta Gorramit Girl.

Elena zips up her hoodie, and walks out the door of the boarding house, where she’d been staying because her house was in ashes. Jeremy had gone back to Denver, Matt was in Minnesota on a football scholarship, and Caroline had been apprenticed at a big boutique in New York, while she’d stuck around, hoping that her roiling emotions would settle themselves, and she could get on with her life. But as the weeks dragged on, she knew something was going to have to be done. She’d been surreptitiously packing things into her car for months, while the Salvatores weren’t around. She’d put letters on her pillow that morning, saying goodbye to all those who remained. All that was left was to leave. Elena reflected back on the past months, wondering why she hadn’t come completely undone after she’d turned her humanity back on, only to see Bonnie die, and then to discover a voidness of emotion still. It wasn’t that she was unable to feel, as was the case with her humanity off, it was more like her emotions had been cauterized, or, she supposed, dulled, by the sheer amount of whiplash over the past years. She slams the car door shut, sticks her key in the ignition, starts her car, and pulls out of the Boarding House driveway, wondering if she’ll ever be back.

Once she is sixty miles out of Mystic Falls, Elena pulls over to have a little snack (she has a cooler in the back of her car, nothing conspicuous) and to call the one man she can depend on to get her through this. They speak for just a few moments, before they reach an agreement, and Elena finishes on her end with, “I’ll be there soon.” They’ve agreed to meet in a podunk little town with an unmemorable name and not a whole lot else to it that’s just a few miles up the road. Once she reaches her destination, she pulls into the only diner in town. She sees a car across the lot that looks way too expensive for town and knows that he’s already inside.

Once Elena enters the diner she scans it, before catching sight of the close cropped hair that belongs to one Elijah Mikaelson. It’s shorter than it was the last time she saw him. She doesn’t know why she notices this, but she does. His back is to her, but she knows that he knows that she’s here. He always does. She slides into the seat in front of him, finally meeting his gaze.

“Hello there.” His voice takes on almost the same timbre as the first time he’d said that to her, but this time it was colored with more familiarity and warmth.  
“Hello.” They exchange a few further pleasantries. She decides that there isn’t a ton of time to beat around the bush, especially since Elijah is there on a personal favor. She doesn’t want to take up any more of his time than she has to. Well, that isn’t entirely true. She’s enjoying the company far more than she thinks she ought to be. Alas. When the waitress comes over, she orders a decaf latte, as does he, sans decaf.  
“Why, Mr. Mikaelson, I never took you for a caffeine person.”  
“I ordinarily am not, but Rebekah and Klaus have been fighting again. Might I inquire, Miss Gilbert, as to what exactly you did take me for?”  
She takes the evasive route and says, “Not a coffee person. I’m getting more of a tea vibe, maybe chamomile.” He smiles a little at that, but says nothing.  
Once the coffees arrive, Elijah cuts into the business end of things. “What is the reason I am here, Elena?” Her voice sticks in her throat, before she can finally voice the concern that’s been weighing on her mind for months.  
“I don’t have any emotions left, Elijah.” The look on Elijah’s face is one of concern and confusion.  
“I was under the impression that you had turned your humanity back on.”  
“I did. So pardon my odd metaphor, but it almost feels like my emotional battery has run out of charge.” Elijah nods, as way of acknowledging her statement, and looks contemplative for a long moment. Finally breaking the silence, he says,  
“Elena, what happened after the confrontation with Silas?”  
“My brother left, and Bonnie died.” Her face falls with grief, and sorrow at having lost yet another loved one. He looks at Elena, and suddenly understands what can be done.  
“Elena, this is my advice to you. Take time to grieve properly. You’ve been running from Silas, among a great deal of other things since you turned. I hate to be blunt, but did you ever take the time to properly mourn Alaric?  
Elena’s mind flounders, and she comes to the realization that she hadn’t. She’d been too trying to deal with the vampirism, and the the lack of humanity, and then the Salvatore busy brothers pressuring her into choosing, and then her little brother's death and finally, the cherry on a very screwy cake, Silas. Suddenly her throat clogs with grief she’d put aside for later, and she has to take a few calming breaths before she can meet Elijah’s eyes again.  
“My second piece of advice to you: find somewhere sunny and beautiful on another continent. I hear Italy is lovely in the summer.”  
He smiles, just enough to crinkle the lines at his eyes. She knows that he’s reminiscing about summer days spent in Italy and simplicity. Elena mulls over what he’s said, thinking that it is very good advice, and is just about to thank him and take her leave, when her cell phone rings, blaring out her ringtone for when either of the Salvatores called, Theory of a Deadman’s The B Came Back. Elena excuses herself with a polite smile and takes the call.  
‘Yes, Damon?”  
“Where are you, Elena? And what is with all this goodbye letter shit? You’re coming back to Mystic Falls, whether or not you like it. You could get hurt out there, Elena. Come home, now.”  
“No, Damon, I’m not going back to Mystic Falls. You and Stefan were smothering me, and you two being my only ties there, I left, just like all my friends did, and I’m not planning on being back anytime soon. Goodbye, Damon, and please don’t call me again.” Her voice breaks on the last word, so she hangs up before he can hear anything else. She takes a minute to compose herself, and heads back to the table, where Elijah had been staring out the window during the whole conversation, but she knew he had heard the whole thing.  
“I’m sorry you had to hear that. He’s just doing what he normally does when he gets hurt, that being lashing out... So coming back to our earlier conversation, before we were so rudely interrupted, I wanted to thank you for your council.”  
“You are quite welcome, lovely Elena,” returns Elijah with a soft smile. She stands up, puts money on the table to cover the tab, and then pecks Elijah on the cheek. She lingers just a moment, in which it appears that things could get very heated very quickly, but then his cell phone rings and the moment is gone. She waves goodbye, and saunters out the door to a future full of promise. Elijah lingers a moment, still feeling her lips on his cheek, before accepting the call.  
“Yes, Niklaus?”

Fifteen years later...

Elena strolled down the sunny Sicilian streets, her shopping for that evening completed. Now she just had to be home with enough time to make herself beautiful for the gala. One of the historical societies in town was throwing their building a six hundredth birthday party, and it had been requested that she play that night. Elena smiles as she remembers the first place she’d stayed when she arrived in Sicily. She’d wound up sharing an artists studio with a man a few years older than her, who was a very good pianist, and as a thank you for helping him pay the rent, he taught her how to play the piano. 

She wasn’t a member of the historical society who was throwing the party that evening, but she was known to most of the ones in the city as a wonderful, capable and fun woman who was also an exceptional piano player, through the one she was a part of, which very frequently threw parties. So if you wanted a very good pianist, or just a fun guest, you put Elena Sommers on your list. She’d taken Jenna’s surname out of love for her aunt, and to avoid immediate detection by the Mystic Falls gang. She’d wanted space, and as it turned out, she finally got what she wanted. Stepping out of the market corner that held the boutique she had just been in, she reveled in her control as she sauntered through the crowd, and her mastery of a language completely foreign to her some years previously. It wasn’t exactly the plan she and Elijah had come up with fifteen years ago in that little diner, but if her life has taught her anything, it’s that things rarely go according to plan. Elena hops on the little trolley that had a stop right by the seaside villa she owned, listening to the other passengers conversations as the scenery rolled by. She allowed her mind to wander back a decade and a half, wondering what Elijah would think if he could see her now, and what he was up to these days. Musing that he was probably somewhere in Europe, getting a little time and space from his siblings, she got off the trolley at her stop and headed inside, to prepare for that evening.

That same day and time, just across town...

Elijah adjusts the bowtie in the mirror, admiring the fit of the tux. He never carried much with him when he hopped continents, and Kol and Rebekah had changed all of his suits into more casual clothing, through the magic known as fire, and then a chain men’s outlet. This evening, the historical society he was a member of was throwing their building a six hundredth birthday party. Elijah muses that they probably just needed an excuse to show off their new china collection. They’d gotten it from Britain, although he had no idea of any further specifics. He preferred wines to fine china, anyway.

“Grazie. Mandami il conto a vostro piacimento.” says Elijah, walking into the back room to change back into one of three suits that had survived the fires.  
He strolls out of the shop a few minutes later, garment bag in hand. He’d been staying in one of his family’s villas, and he had to admit, the change from the rough-and-tumble of the stateside drama with his siblings was most welcome. Plus, the view of the rest of Palermo wasn’t terrible either.

That evening, at seven o’clock...

Elena strolled across the threshold of the impressive building, her navy blue dress fluttering in the soft breeze. She was there a half an hour early, to take a look at her music and to test the tune of the piano and acoustics of the building. Her hair was pulled back into a very neat bun, and she was wearing small diamond teardrop earrings that sparkled in the fairy lights that adorned the hall. She smiled at the sophisticated, yet relaxed air that the setting gave. It reminded her of a certain hazel-eyed vampire who happened to be on her mind that night for the first time in fifteen years.

She opened the black faux-leather folder marked “Elena” leaning again the stand atop one of two very nice grand pianos, that were facing each other so that the sound might mingle and flow out to the guests, but that the pianists might not ever see the others face. The pianos were in the northwest corner of the room, where there were fewer lights, but a nice view of the rest of the space.. She didn’t catch a glance at the other folder on the other piano, but if she had, she might have made a very undignified noise of shock. She skimmed her eyes over the titles in her folder; they were all things she’d played before. Martucci’s Piano Concerto No. 2, Stenhammar’s Piano Concerto No. 1, and Dvorak’s Piano Concerto Op. 33, and a note saying that the guests would be requesting pieces for the end of the evening... wait a minute. There were two, as in primo and secondo, parts to two of these of these concerto’s. Her mind was awhirl trying to think up who might be playing the other part. She simply decided to wait and see, it never occurring to her to check the other folder...

Elena played a few lines from Kabalevsky’s Third Sonata in F major, hearing that 1) the piano was very much in tune, 2) that the piano was strategically placed within the hall to not overpower other sounds in the room, but could still be heard quite well and 3) there were soft, quick footsteps sounding behind her. Then there is the squeak of a piano bench being pulled out on a stone floor and the huff of someone sitting down on the seat. To Elena’s misfortune, the piano lids were up, as were the music stands on both pianos, so she could not see her fellow pianist. Whomever is across from her begins to play a simple tune that is also very old. By this point, there are workers and caterers and committee members bustling about. A few guests begin to trickle in and they form small groups and chat quietly. Someone taps her shoulder, and she turns. It’s the host. "Si dovrebbe iniziare con Stenhammar, e giocare Martucci dopo che, una volta che ho finito le osservazioni di apertura."

“Quando devo suonare la Dvorak?”

“Mr.Smith giocherà la sua selezione personale - Brahms Sonata per pianoforte numero uno-tra Martucci e il Dvorak.” Elena moves out onto the floor then, to listen to the remarks, and to try to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mr.Smith. The host- Tomas, she learns, is his name- gathers the guests attention, which, in a room full of socialites is no easy task, mind you. He begins the opening remarks, but Elena’s attention is diverted by two little proper nouns.

Elijah Smith.

The realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Her eyes scan the crowd, and they suddenly lock with a pair of intense hazel ones, near the pianos. She can hear the host finishing up his speech, so she breaks Elijah’s intense gaze, and heads back to the pianos. Without looking at him, she sits down at the bench at looks up at Tomas, and waits for her cue. The secondo starts this piece, and that happens to be her part, so she places her fingers to the keys, and begins.  
After the six bars separating the parts, the music mingles and drifts over the chatting guests.

Somewhere, there is a switch in piece, where Elena is playing primo and Elijah secondo. Eventually, though, this piece ends, just as the first one did, and through the haze of performing, Elena gathers that an announcement has been made, and everyone is going to dinner now. She blinks, hoping to regain a little focus,completely unaware of how much time has passed. Pausing to think for a moment, Elena has no memory from the pause between pieces and the present. This alarms her for a moment, but she reassures herself with the knowledge that she knows these pieces. She’s escorted to a spot at a really long table in a giant dining... hall. “Room” does not encompass the sheer size of the space she’s entered. Elena takes in a deep breath, to both fully bring her out of the performance haze, and to taste the aromas of true Italian cooking. It may not satiate her hunger any, but it still makes her taste buds happy. And then she hears the odd accent that belongs to her letter-writer and dream haunter. Elijah Mikaelson, in the flesh. And now he’s sitting right next to her. She turns her gaze slowly. When their gazes connect, she smiles, and he does too.

“Hello there,”

Elena swallows, and returns the greeting.

“Long time no see.”

“Far too long.” Elijah glances about. “Where are the Salvatore brothers this evening?”

While Elena understands where he’s coming from, presumably thinking that they wouldn’t allow Elena out of their sight in town, much less on her own, on another continent. “Last I heard, they were in Los Angeles, drinking their troubles away. They popped in about ten years ago and tried to convince me to ‘go home and make a choice’ and to ‘stop stringing them along, as I think a very drunken Stefan put it. When they still couldn’t accept that my choice was neither of them, Damon tried to drag me out my front door by force, so I put him through a wall, and snapped Stefan’s neck. I promptly took a lovely little trip inland to Monreale.” she explains, in English, so as not to alarm anyone sitting nearby, who might hear the bit where she snapped Stefan’s neck.

“Ah.” Elijah’s tone is one of mild surprise, and... dare she think, a little bit happy?

They make small talk, in Italian with the other guests and each other, and Elena has to admit, Elijah’s warm tenor mixed with a romance language is really attractive. When they speak of the time between when he left and she called him, it’s in hushed English, however. Eventually, the dinner things are cleared away, and people are venturing back out into the ballroom for drinks and dancing, or, in Italian, “Bevande e balli.” Elijah is playing his solo first, giving Elena time to mingle. She says hello to the few people she does know, and winds up having a conversation with someone of whom she has no prior acquaintance. 

“I’m Zoey. My mother came to Sicily from America, hence the not very Italian name.”

Elena and Zoey chat for a short time about mundane things, like the dinner, and how they got caught up in the historical society circuit before Zoey asks Elena, “So, what’s up with you and Elijah?” 

“We were friends before I left the States for Sicily.”

Zoey raises her eyebrows incredulously, but says nothing more, excusing herself to the bar. After Zoey disappears into the ever-shifting crowd, Elena gives up on being social, and goes to turn pages for Elijah. When she sits down beside him at the piano, he smiles, and she listens for a moment to discover where he is in the music. He’s got about fifty measures left, and Elena smiles, because this is one of her favorite spots in in music. The melody wraps around her like a hug, and Elena wishes for just a moment that she could freeze time, and savor exactly where she was for an eternity. But his fingers dance on, and time continues. She turns the final page for him and he dances through the last few measures, before the final chord is struck. Everyone is clapping and Elijah takes a small bow. 

Elena sits down at the piano, and begins the Dvorak. Elijah disappears into the crowd, and all of a sudden, Elena feels small and alone. But then the Czech composer’s melody engulfs her, and again, she’s receiving a melodic hug. Her mind re-enters the lovely fog of performance, and it’s half an hour before she resurfaces, right near the end of the piece. She looks over as her hands drift over the penultimate measure, to see Elijah sitting right next to her, eyes closed, a look of bliss on his face. She lays her fingers into the final chord, a G Major chord, and once, again, the audience applauds, and Elena takes a small bow. Elijah comes up behind her and whispers, “I think that that is my new favorite interpretation of this piece.” She smiles broadly. Elijah furrows his brow. “What is it this time, Elena?”

“I feel that that is high praise coming from a man who probably knew, if not snacked on, the composer.” Elijah just shakes his head.

“Elena, I thought you thought me a man of morals, and besides, I would never snack on a composer. Oh no, that was all my brothers. And besides, composers are notorious for tasting terrible, all those twisted childhoods, dead relations, and histories of alcoholism. According to my half-brother, though, Vivaldi didn’t taste half bad...” Elijah grins cheekily and Elena sighs.

“Leave it to Klaus to have snacked on my second-favorite composer.”

Elijah quirks an eyebrow, while visibly holding in a chuckle. “So, who is your favorite composer, then?”

“Dvorak. Something about his music... just feels right, I guess.” The banter dies, and in companionable silence, they retreat back to the pianos.

It was about ten thirty p.m. at that point, so guests requested pieces and danced, and some still drank. An hour passed, and things were beginning to wrap up. Elijah took their music back to the room where the historical society had their library, and re-filed the pieces. He was definitely pleased with the selections he had made. He knew a combination of Elena and Dvorak was destined to be amazing, he just hadn’t counted on just how fantastic it would be. Elijah turned out the light, and exited the small library. He rejoined Elena, who was standing at the pianos accepting thank yous and goodbyes. Tomas came over, and told them they were free to go.

“Grazie per averci invitato a giocare voi, è stato un piacere.” says Elena earnestly.

“Grazie tanto per uscire e giocare.” replies Tom. Tom and Elijah shake hands, and Elijah offers Elena his arm to escort her to her car. They leave the building through the smaller service doors in the back of the grand building. Elijah quietly guides Elena to the gravel lot near the back of the building, where they both parked their cars. His black SUV of an indeterminate maker, next to her little silver Toyota, are the only cars in the lot now.

“Elena...” Elijah’s voice trails off.

“Yes, Elijah?” Outwardly, it look as if he’s debating something.

“Are you, at this time, romantically involved with anyone?”

“Elijah, what are you asking?”

“Please just answer me, Elena.”

“I am not. Elijah, what is going on?”

“It is odd that I should feel this way, but I also feel a sense of guilt.”

“Elijah, you aren’t making sense. What are you-”

He silences her question with a kiss, powerful, but not intrusive. He moves away for just a moment, looking to Elena to affirm that she isn’t objecting. She isn’t. Eventually they pull away from each other, and Elijah says, “Odd that I should fall for another doppelganger, and guilt that I waited fifteen years to do that.” And he swoops in for another kiss.  
Fin.

A/N: Hullo again! I want to thank you all for the support and love that you’ve given this story.  
In other news, here are the translations of the Italian in the story. I understand that Sicilian is a little different from Italian, but I don’t speak either language, and it would be weird to have them in Sicily not speaking Sicilian/Italian, so I wound up using Google Translate. :( I know, it's terrible. Also, if you'd like to come say hi, i am inscrutablemarauder on tumblr.

Grazie. Mandami il conto a vostro piacimento.  
Thank you. Send me the bill at your leisure.

Si dovrebbe iniziare con Stenhammar, e giocare Martucci dopo che, una volta che ho finito le osservazioni di apertura.  
You should start with Stenhammar, and play the Martucci after that, once I have finished the opening remarks.

Quando devo suonare la Dvorak?  
When should I play the Dvorak?

Mr. Smith giocherà la sua selezione personale - Brahms Sonata per pianoforte numero uno tra Martucci e Dvorak.  
Mr. Smith will play his personal selection - Brahms Piano Sonata number one between the Martucci and the Dvorak.

Grazie per averci invitato a giocare voi, è stato un piacere.  
Thank you for inviting us to play, it was a pleasure.

Grazie tanto per uscire e giocare.  
Thank you both for coming out and playing.


End file.
